Chronicles of a Name Misspelled

Neroja Nirojia. Successive approximations to the mean?

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Honestly this happened so fast I didn’t realize what was going on. The first barista wrote my name on the cup with an “Iiiiiiidon’tknowwww” look on her face, then handed it to the other barista to make the drink. How and why the name got “corrected” we shall never know. But we shall enjoy the results, oh yes we shall.

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Also, apparently there is a rack of skinny skinny skinny jeans making a cameo in this shot. I was at an Aeropostale, so I guess if you happen to be a skinny skinny skinny person, um, you could wear those pants and stuff.

Nc.norga.

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Maybe that “C” is s’posed to be an “I”. And the dot from the “I” (technically known as a “jot,” of which I am informing you because I like to show off my random trivial knowledge, because that is the sort of thing that is cool, to exactly zero people aside from me, even though I’ll never admit it) may have just fallen beside it. But, friends, that would still leave us with “Ninorga,” and, friends, that just isn’t a name, friends. Friends, that just isn’t even a real name.

Neurogia(sp?). I feel like the cop-out at the end sorta ruins the beauty of this misspelling. And it is a beautiful one, or would be anyway. 

N. We know who you are, and we know that your name is complicated, and quite frankly we are sick of trying. Now GTFO.

Nirogah. Rolls right off the tongue, no? You know that moment when someone hears your name, and then asks you to spell it, and then writes it on a cup, and then compliments your name also, and then you’re just like “thanks,” and then you find out later that the person had your name totally wrong, or at least a little bit wrong but in such a way that it totally changes it to something kinda ugly? I’M LIVING IT.

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Also, unrelated, to the posh-looking lady in the fancy business suit who just walked in to use the loo and walked back out again: I see you, and you are a scrub. You ain’t foolin nobody.

NRIOJH. OMGWTFLOL.

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The story is this: another one of my favorite baristas here asked me how to spell my name for the cup. So I told him. And he wrote “NIIOJH.” Which, you know, no. I actually didn’t even notice the missing “a” until I took this picture, but I did try to correct the double “i” thing at the time, and, well, you see how that ended up. And so by this time we’re both laughing and I kinda tried to re-correct him, but he was like “Whatever, I’ve had it with you and your crazy name, this is what it’s gonna be today!” and starts making the drink. Which is only the best possible response, of course. Landing, consider yourself stuck!

Lerosja. This one, this just baffles me—how is this anyone’s name? How would this be pronounced? What would it mean? What was the process of deciding to call someone this?

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Parent A: Oh hey, that kid we just had probably should get a name.

Parent B: Oh yeah, okay, how about Leroy? Like the bad one. From the song.

Parent A: Eh well I was thinking more exotic. So people will automatically understand that our kid is cultured and sophisticated, like we are. No questions necessary.

Parent B: Ooh yeah, good point. How about Leie Roiye? No, Learrovia. Lyeroshastikovitch. Lirrojaqua. Lerosjayoa.

Parent A: I don’t have to say a line here because they already know the punchline.

Parent B: True. Well, this was anticlimactic.

Parent A: What, like last night? Zing!

(laugh track)

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The moral of this story, by the way, is CUBS WIN!!!

Larosa! La la la la rosa!

Sitting on the sofa!

Do you think she knows-a

How to make rye toast-a?

Do you think she likes-a

Reading what she writes-a?

Did you know she wants-a

Twenty elephants-a?

You would’ve if you knew-a

Anything about her!

La la la la rosa,

Sitting on the sofa,

Coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee.

New Rachelle. Yes yes y’all, and it don’t stop! Wheehee!

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And, okay, yes, yes there was a tiny tiny tiny bit of prestidigitation involved in this one, but I absolutely had to post it anyway. What had happened was there is this barista who works at the Starbucks I go to all the time, and we joke around with each other now and then, and anyway I place my order and he asks me my name because that is what proper baristas do. (I’m looking at you, bestowers of the nameless cups. Don’t think for a moment that there will be grace for your behavior in the end.)

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Umm anyway so I told him my name, and he fires back, “New Rochelle?” Which was awesome because, obviously, 1. Hilarity ensued, 2. I had never ever heard that one before, which is a super-rare occurrence, and 3. As you can see, I persuaded him to actually just make that my name on the cup. It was awesome, and now you can enjoy it too.

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And that is that story.

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Oh, and, please to be ignoring the (mis)spelling of “Rochelle.” Funny baristas who exhibit such maximum sportsmanship get a pass. Pilkunnussijat may consider themselves warned.

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(***Twist! You may be surprised to discover that I did indeed invest upwards of 20 minutes researching Finnish noun cases, just to be certain that I had that last sentence up there correct. And you may be further surprised to find that this exercise resulted in mild frustration as I discovered that there is no vocative case at all, apparently, thus preventing me from addressing the aforementioned population directly. And by now you have almost certainly found the mistake in the sentence, but if you haven’t, think semantic not syntactic. Please somebody stop me?***)

Leroja. Annnnd I’m back. The kid is hot. Okay? You see the pro?

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Now, before you pass judgment on my choice (in THIS economy?!), I got the massive fancy drink as a birthday freebie. In fact, I had ordered a tall one but then asked the barista if my free drink postcard covered anything I wanted, and she was like yeah dude, you should get the big one, and I was all, yeah okay I’ll take it, and then she was like what’s your name, and I was all, “Nirojah,” and she was all (in her head) let me just get my marker and just write that shit on the cup as I see fit, and I was like (in my head) should I get the hammer, the mushroom or the star now, because I do believe that was a level up. Out loud I was just like thanks and she was all no problem, you’re all set and I was like (internally) you bet I am, and in fact here is a dollar, for both your kind service and your unwitting contribution to my  personal amusement and that of my friends and tumblr fans.

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In short: this gorgeous day + finding a seat by an outlet + giant premium beverage - obligatory payment + new name misspelling = happy happy happy me.